Whites of Their Eyes
by Sherlockophobia
Summary: Connor soon found his life growing up was different than the rest, but being an Assassin meant so much more. Without his parents, he trained with Achilles Davenport to become an Assassin. Living on his own without his mentor was expensive and he found something that sells better than pelts. M Rating for rape, incest, violence, sex, and more. Haytham x Connor.


All he wanted to do was play with his friends, he obeyed his mother and didn't leave the valley like she told him. He did everything right! Why is it that he was now suspended in the air against a tree by his threat with huge white men surrounding him? Where did his friends go? Were they okay? That no longer mattered as the man holding him up began to speak. He felt his muscles tense as fight or flight kicked in after he froze. What did he want? The boy focused on the words, realising the man was demanding to know where his tribe was. He wouldn't tell, he might have been four years old, but he knew the dangers of telling strangers where he lived. Even while he was threatened with death, something screamed at him in the back of his mind to not tell this man anything.

The man released him and he fell to the ground, choking in an attempt to get aid back into his lungs. "What-what is your name?" He found himself questioning after the man went on to talk about how he should tell his tribe something, swallowing back a scream he felt building in his throat.

The man chuckled, bending down a bit to look at him and he asked why the boy wanted to know. "Charles Lee, why do you ask?"

"So I can find you," The boy replied, trying his best to look tough and unfazed.

"I look forward to it," Came the response, practically a challenge for the young lad.

There was more laughter from the man, now known as Charles Lee, who then turned and walked away, motioning for his men to follow. The boy wanted to get up, to jump on him and attack, but before he could bring himself to his feet, another man hit him in the head with an odd looking stick and everything went black. When he came to, his forehead throbbed and his body protested at him standing up. He let out a soft groan and glanced up at the sky, noticing it was getting dark, even though his vision was blurry. He stumbled along, trying to head home, no longer sensing the dangerous presence of the white man. He swallowed, his throat dry, and squinted in an attempt to make out the misshapen black shape in the sky. Panic overtook his body as he realised it was smoke and he picked up the pace, trying to get home quicker, even though e couldn't run.

His vision was correcting itself as he bolted past the barriers around his tribe's home and coughed, smoke filling his lungs. Flames were reaching up toward the sky, threatening to burn everything in their path, as they ate away at the huts his people used for shelter. People were stumbling about, crying, and trying to help each other escape. The only thought he had was to find his hut and make sure his mother was okay. Fire prevented him from entering his hut once he reached it and he cried in exasperation, racing around to the other side, making sure he wouldn't get hurt. He pushed himself into the hut and saw his mom sitting on the ground, leaning back, with smouldering wood trapping her in place.

"Mother!" He shouted in his native tongue and moved close, attempting to move the wood to free her.

His hands were burned and he wanted to scream from the pain, but his mother reached out and he grabbed hold of her hand instead. The heat from the inferno inside the hut almost made him want to leave, but the desire to save his mother overrode is fear. He felt a stickiness on his face, something he recognised clear as day, and tried to hold back tears to no avail.

"You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You must be brave," She began, looking at him with sorrow etched into her young face.

"Stop it, stop it!" Ratonhnhaké:ton protested, knowing why she was saying these words.

She continued on, ignoring his pleas, "You will think yourself alone, but just know that I will be at your side. Always and forever." He could see her panicked expression, but she had already resounded to her fate a while ago.

He felt himself being picked up by an adult and he flailed, trying to pry himself free from the arms wrapped around him. "No, stop! Let me go! Let me save her!" He yelled as he wiggled, having no success. The last image he had of his mother was of the hut collapsing around her.

"I love you," She murmured, even though her son could not hear her due to the roar of the fire, his own screams, and the collapsing hut.

"Mother!" Was the last word Kaniehtí:io heard before she inevitably allowed herself to succumb to death.

—

An eight year old Ratonhnhaké:ton sat up quickly, heart racing, and sweat beading on his forehead. His breath came to him rapidly as he looked around the small dark room he was being held captive in. It had been four years since he lost his mother, but he still had vivid nightmares of losing her quite often. He sobbed quietly, drawing his knees to his chest so he could bury his face into his arms. He wasn't supposed to cry, the man who kidnapped him made that clear on the first day, but he couldn't help himself. The pain of losing his mother, compounded with the trauma of being kidnapped, and the physical pain his body was in made him almost lose himself. He'd be screaming if the man wasn't asleep in the next room.

It had been seven days since he was taken from somewhere outside his new village. There was no chance of escape, even though he wasn't too far from his home, because the man with a funny voice and weird drawl held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him if he so much as spoke. He was tired of people threatening his life. Ratonhnhaké:ton allowed himself to take a shuddering breath as he calmed down, rubbing at his eyes to get rid of the tears and hopefully quell the stinging from his crying. The man, who seemed to go by John, thought making him sleep on the floor without a bed roll would break him, but he was used to it, because he grew up sleeping on the ground. What broke him, however, was being violated - touched in places he never thought someone would touch. His body feeling like it was being ripped in two. He still cried when John forced himself inside of him, he couldn't help it, the pain was unbearable.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, though the room started brightening slowly with the sun rising. He heard John's dog bark at something outside and Ratonhnhaké:ton couldn't bring himself to stand up to check what was going on. He felt defeated. He jumped when he heard a loud bang, which he assumed was from John shooting fire out of his hands, as well as the man shouting at something. He couldn't make out the words. The only one he was able to hear was "savage", which made him cringe because he knew that was a word meant to demean people like Ratonhnhaké:ton. The next sound he heard was the squeaking of floor boards coming toward his door and immediately he pretended to be asleep, fearful of what would happen if he was caught awake.

The door was pushed open roughly. "Wake up, savage boy. Today's the day." John snarled, picking Ratonhnhaké:ton up by his shirt.

As much as he wanted to struggle, he knew it wasn't a good idea, and instead whined in protest. That earned him a strike to the face with an open hand and he cringed, closing his eyes to will the tears away. He was set on his feet and he wished he could run, because he knew what was going to happen on this particular day. He was to be sold at auction with other people of his "colour", as John lightly put it. He was to stand in his underwear with others, probably adults, while white people came up to touch and prod him. He'd be sold to the highest bidder and John constantly told him he hoped he went to a man worse than him.

"Yer gunna regret ever strugglin' wif me, savage. Where we's a goin', yer gunna be torn to little Injun pieces," John sneered in his face, breath reeking of the alcohol he wasted himself with the previous night.

John was a tall man, stocky but had muscles hidden beneath the fat on his arms. He looked to be middle aged, with yellowing teeth that were crooked and messed up in his mouth. His eyes were blue and the yellow hair on top of his head was thin and pulling back away from his forehead. The scalp was partially bald. He reeked of something that resembled what the elders in his tribe smoked, but it wasn't the same. It smelled horrible, not nice like he was used to. It definitely wasn't a smell he had recognised, aside from his tribe; never on anyone else. He wore disgusting looking clothes that he had seen white men wear before, but John did not care about é:ton gagged quietly as John smashed their lips together unceremoniously, forcing a rough kiss on the young child.

"Fer good luck," John cackled, grabbing the boy's wrist and dragging him outside.

Walking hurt because each movement reminded him of what had happened to him over the past several days, but John didn't have any horses to ride. Ratonhnhaké:ton was silently thankful; the pain might have been ten times worse if he had to endure horseback. John forced them to walk at a quick pace to get to the closest town before the auction started. It was when they neared the town that he was forced to run because time was running out. Within a few minutes, he was told to strip to his underwear and climb onto the platform with the others. Ratonhnhaké:ton felt sick to his stomach and he tried to hide himself away, but was forced to stand straight by the auctioneer. The crowd of white people stood in front of him, some children his own age. He scooted ever so slightly closer to a darker skinned woman and frowned, while he shook with fear. One after the other, adults came onto the platform to touch him and the others, some gripping his shoulders and arms. Fingers were jammed into his mouth and his jaw pried open, but he didn't know what they were looking for.

The bidding soon began and numbers were being thrown out left and right for different people on the platform. Ratonhnhaké:ton wildly looked around, wondering if he could somehow make an escape. His heart threatened to tear out of his chest and fly at the unsuspecting crowd and again, he found himself attempting not to cry. A stray tear made its way down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away, scared of the repercussions. Two of the four adults were gone at this point, led away by white men or families. It was down to the two other adults and him, the only child. He shifted his weight from foot to foot anxiously, slight hope telling him that maybe he wouldn't be sold.

A gruff voice shouted out from the crowd, "Ten shillings for the boy!"

"Twelve shillings!" Another man called, obviously desiring to one up that man and win.

"Twenty!" The first man claimed, narrowing his eyes in a dangerous way.

"Fifty!" The second yelled, getting desperate for the lad.

"One hundred and fifty shillings," A smoother voice nearby.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton glanced at John, he was sure the man was about to pass out. "...going twice, sold! Sold to the man in the corner. Mister, uh, what's your name?"

"Lee."

"Sold to Mister Lee!"

Ratonhnhaké:ton's eyes went wide with panic and he tried to back off the stage once he heard the name. No. Absolutely no way. This wasn't possible. He was prevented from leaving and he stared up at the man who was now in front of him. Lee paid the auctioneer with a bag full of coin and grabbed the Native child, walking away while the child screamed, cried, and begged. He heard John laugh maniacally from behind him while he was placed on a horse. _Ow, _the pain was beyond unreal and he wiggled quite a few times on the horse, frowning at the pain and uncomfortableness. Still crying, but unable to do anything about his situation, Charles Lee spurred the horse off into the forest.

"Please let me go!" He protested in his native tongue and then again in English when Charles didn't respond to him.

There was still no response as they galloped through the trees, Ratonhnhaké:ton squinting his eyes to try to see where they were headed. He was still crying, but not as loud, and a thought came into his mind to bite the arm that was holding the reins of the horse. Another thought told him that would be a bad idea because he could fall off the horse and get killed, either by hooves, the horse falling on him, or Charles Lee. As they approached familiar lands, the horse was forced to stop and he was picked up off the animal and set on his feet.

"Go home," Charles instructed and before Ratonhnhaké:ton could protest, the man was on the horse, speeding off the way they came.

At least he knew how to get home from here, but he wished he had clothes. He knew his underwear was bloody, yet he didn't want anyone in the tribe to know what happened to him. Frowning, he pulled the underwear off and placed it into a pile of twigs, deciding to finish the journey naked. He wouldn't lie about being kidnapped, but he would tell anyone who asked that he escaped while bathing in a river, which would hopefully explain his nudity. His body continued to ache and the bruises on his side reminded him they were there when his arms brushed against them as he walked. Everything was painful and he hoped someone could help him, find him and carry him back, so he could receive treatment for the oozing cuts and scrapes across his body. Even though no one was there to rescue him, he found his way to the village and slowly walked inside, standing by the entrance in hopes he would be noticed.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" His best friend, Kanen'tó:kon cried, and ran to stand in front of him. The ruckus drew other people over to see what was going on, some gasping at his return and the state he was in, but most welcoming and thanking the spirits he was alive. Ratonhnhaké:ton was home.


End file.
